Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  “See ya there,” Logan told him as he clapped his back.

  He thought of his wife again, her long blond hair, stacked tits, tight ass… damn he missed her. “I think a call is due.” He changed direction and made his way toward the phone room. The phone lines were still active and that could change any moment.

  Anytime a casualty of war occurred, phone lines shut down to notify the next to kin. Considering they were still hot, this was a good sign most days.

  A computer had been set up to allow soldiers to call using Skype when time allowed.

  Logging into his account, he adjusted the camera to face him and dialed Susan’s number. The online phone rang a few times, then finally, her face came into view.

  Logan grinned. “Hey, baby.”

  Susan sat down at the computer and tossed her blond hair behind her shoulder. She smiled and leaned in, blowing a kiss toward her husband. “You are definitely a sight for sore eyes! I miss you, honey. Two hundred fifty more days! Oh, I’m planning a going away trip for when you return home. I’m thinking a cruise?”

  “Baby, slow down. That all sounds great. I just needed to see your beautiful face.”

  She tilted her head slightly. “Did something happen?” Logan nodded and lowered his gaze. “Can you talk about it?”

  He sighed and shook his head no. “Not really, no, but I can tell you we rescued children today.” Raising his gaze to the camera, “Baby, their faces, I can’t get it out of my head.”

  Susan remained quiet, giving her husband a moment to collect his thoughts. “What can I do to help you sleep?”

  “I wish you were here. I need to sink myself deep inside you. I need your body next to mine.”

  “I would love that too, baby, but we can’t. At least not yet.” She suddenly smiled and leaned in, lowering her voice. “Are you alone?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, why?”

  She smiled again and stood. Taking a few steps back from the camera, she pulled her T-shirt off over her head, then removed her pants. Standing in her bra and panties,

  Logan raised a brow and grinned. “Take it all off. Let me see you.”

  She nodded, then obeyed. Removing her bra, her breasts exposed to him, she teased her nipples, lightly pulling on them.

  “Fuck me, woman, you’re fucking sexy as fuck.”

  She laughed, then removed her panties. “You win for how many times you can say fuck a sentence.”

  As she stood back, Logan leaned in and grinned. “I see you’re keeping it waxed for me. Fucking sexy, baby, fucking sexy.” He leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers behind his head. “Touch yourself for me.”

  “Logan, I can’t do that.” She took a seat in her chair and scooted close to the camera.

  “Oh yes, you can, and you will. I need this baby, please. Do it. Just for me.” He licked his lips and grinned.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.” Lifting her leg to the side, she exposed her freshly waxed pussy to him. Using her fingers, she pushed the lips covering her clit apart. She rubbed it softly and moaned, her head laying back on the chair.

  “Damn, baby, I want to taste you so fucking bad.” He absently rubbed his hand down the front of his pants over his erection. He knew later he’d be in the shower rubbing one out.

  “Saunders! You in here?” the voice of De La Rue interrupted his fantasy with his wife.

  “Fuck,” he turned off the monitor and glanced across the room. “Phone time, man! Give me a minute!”

  De La Rue chuckled. “The wife naked for you, fucker?” He laughed. “Meet me in the barracks. Poker is on.”

  “Get the fuck out. I’ll be there when I’m done. Shit, man!”

  De La Rue chuckled again, then left the phone room. Logan turned the monitor back on to watch his wife clothing herself. “Baby, no! We were just getting started.”

  “Oh no! This is what I feared most, getting caught by your friends. Trust me, it’ll be much better in person.” She winked into the camera, then licked her finger she was masturbating with. “Mmm just for you, baby, just for you.”

  “Fuck, baby, damn I need you.” He sighed and lowered his head. “I need a damn cold shower now.”

  She giggled and shook her head. “You’re half way through your deployment. The other half will go by even faster. See you soon, lover. I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby.”

  She disconnected the Skype call and Logan shut off the monitor. He sighed and stood from his chair, intent on a poker game and possibly an ass kicking to De La Rue for interrupting him. Adjusting the hard on in his pants, he groaned and left the phone room.

  Chapter Two

  After winning most of the hands at poker that night, Logan called it and left for his room. The summer evening did no favors when it came to night fall. Some nights it was cold as fuck, others, he could never feel clean enough after a shower.

  Arriving at his bunker, he put his earnings in his foot locker, locked it, then stripped off his clothes. Laying across his bed in his boxer briefs, he adjusted himself back and forth until the springs no longer poked in his back or ass. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed but it beat sleeping on rocks or on dirt ground. He had slept on the ground plenty of times before and woke with strains in his neck and back.

  He interlaced his fingers behind his head and mulled over today’s events, from the rescue mission to his naked wife… then the card game. He was ready to be home with her, but also understood he had a mission to finish. Logan thought briefly of the times he was uprooted from base to base when his father received new orders. He would pack up and make the best of it. Knowing he had no choice at the time, he swore he’d never put his own family through that.

  Yet here he was, following his father’s footsteps. His father a former Ranger, and the son now a Delta Force operative.

  Marrying Susan was one of the best decisions he ever made. He received orders for deployment during their first year of marriage. They remained strong and fucked like damn bunnies upon his return. He looked forward to that reunion now; his cock twitched in agreement.

  He closed his eyes and recalled Susan on the chair, her leg hiked up and rubbing her pussy. Licking his lips, he absently rubbed his cock. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

  What I wouldn’t give to sink deep inside her right now, he thought, taste her sweet honey on my lips.

  Logan sat up, having enough of his erotic thoughts, and headed toward the showers. Making an effort to be sure he was alone, he headed toward the back stall and turned on the hot water. As the steam began to build, he stripped his boxer briefs and stepped under the spray.

  Grasping his cock, he stroked it a few times, rubbing his thumb over the head. He thought of Susan and her pussy, running his tongue along her slit, flicking her clit, and fucking her with his fingers.

  He groaned softly as he stroked his length. Images of how his wife looked below him came to mind. The way he pressed her legs toward her chest as he sank his cock deep inside her. She would scream his name while digging her nails into his back.

  He pressed a palm against the wall and stroked faster until he came. Groaning, his cock pulsed in his grasp as he milked the last of his cum into the water stream. Titling his head back, he relaxed as the water washed down any evidence of his orgasm.

  Logan reached for the soap and lathered it in his hands. Running it up and down his arms, he looked over his ink sleeves. He needed something new, but he wasn’t sure what. The designs on each arm had originally started as a Celtic tribal on his left shoulder. A few years ago he had demon wings tattoos on his back that started up around his shoulders, down to his waist.

  He considered getting some type of dragon head below his right nipple and the body would run up to his arm pit, then it would come out on the other side. He thought fire would be cool coming out of his mouth.

  He rinsed, turned off the water, and grabbed his towel. He dried and wrapped it around his waist, then headed toward his bed. Grabbing clean boxer-brie
fs, he pulled them on and tossed the other boxers and the towel into the hamper. He had clothes piled up and needed to do laundry. As much as he hated doing his own clothes, he did enjoy having fresh ones.

  He laid on his bed and pulled the covers to his shoulders. Turning on his side, he felt drowsiness take over and closed his eyes.

  “Saunders, wake up, man.” A voice interrupted his sleep and Logan groaned. He opened his eyes and glanced over to the alarm clock. The numbers read zero four fifteen.

  “What the fuck?” Logan glared at the man waking him, some young punk of an officer. “It’s not time to get up yet. Fuck off.”

  “Saunders, Top wants to talk to you. He’s in his office. And I’ll let that comment go.”

  Logan groaned and rubbed his eyes. He looked up to the man standing over him. The guy stared down as he held onto a clipboard.

  “You’re needed. Something's… something's happened. Get up and go.”

  Logan nodded and sat up. “Can you clue me in?”

  The young man shook his head. “He’ll fill you in on the details.” The young man, tall and lanky, turned and left the barracks. Running a hand down the scruff of his face, Logan got up, took a piss, then brushed his teeth.

  Pulling on jogging pants, a T-shirt and running shoes, he headed in the direction of the Top Sergeant’s office. The desert air felt chilly this morning. The hair on his arms stood to attention as he jogged toward the main office.

  He grabbed the door and pulled it open. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the florescent lights, Logan stepped inside. He headed toward Top’s office and knocked on the closed door.

  “Come in, Saunders.”

  Logan opened the door and stood to attention. He saluted. “Master Sergeant.”

  “At ease,” the man told him. The Master Sergeant, or Top as they referred to him, stood from his desk. The man was not much older than Logan, Latino of origin and had a thick build, similar to his own.

  “Saunders, have a seat. I have news that was delivered earlier.”

  Logan nodded and took a seat, the chill of the metal chair seeped through the thin material of his pants. “Did Recon get intel on our mission?”

  Top shook his head. He took a few steps around the office, then laid a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Son,” the man sighed and Logan glanced up to him, troubled by whatever his Master Sergeant was not saying.

  “What happened, sir?”

  “Logan,” he used his first name, then Top leaned against the desk in front of him. “There was an accident, back in Texas. The call came through just moments ago.”

  “Accident?” Logan’s heart drummed in his chest and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.

  Top nodded. He looked into Logan’s eyes. “Your wife was in an accident earlier tonight. Her car was struck by an oncoming vehicle that swerved into her lane. They think she died instantly. There was a passenger and he died upon arrival at the hospital.” Top gave Logan a moment to process the information. “Son, you’re going home. Arrangements will be made for you to leave here in a few days. You have my deepest sympathies.”

  Logan stared at his Master Sergeant for a moment, then to the opposite wall. He could not breathe, he could not move. As if the air had been sucked out of the room, he felt his chest tighten. His hearing evaporated as well. Logan felt… nothing. At least until a hand firmly shook his shoulder.

  Glancing to his Master Sergeant, he blinked.

  “Logan? Aside from the obvious, are you all right?”

  He stood and inhaled deeply, holding it in his chest. As his lungs began to burn, he slowly exhaled. Logan had been trained to deal with terrorism, risks, and war. None of his training dealt with anything like this. What was he supposed to do now? Go home and bury his wife? Move on as if nothing had happened?

  Children, that porch swing they teased about drinking lemonade on when they grew elderly… it all suddenly disappeared.

  He stared at the man in the room, who now seemed to be nothing but a stranger. He blinked and his mouth opened to say something, then he closed it again. Gritting his teeth, the muscles in his jaw flexed and released.

  “There will be someone to escort you to the airport. Arrangements will be made. Son, again, you have my deepest sympathies. If there’s anything we can do from this end, all you need to do is ask.”

  “You already said that,” Logan mumbled as he saluted him. Top returned it, then Logan turned on his heel and left the office.

  Chapter Three

  The hum of the jetliner provided a white noise throughout the plane that offered little to no comfort. He shoved in ear buds and turned on his iPod. Scrolling through the play lists on the device, he stopped on Metal Rock, then turned the volume up as loud as he could stand it.

  If I cannot hear… more-less think… I won’t remember anything. Distraction is key. Show no weakness. Never give a reason to be weak.

  He closed his eyes as he mentally chanted his mantra. Drums kicked into play, and The Zero Sum picked up rhythm. Resting his head against the seat, he tapped his fingers on the arm rests.

  He loved his wife. They discussed having children when he retired, which would be in another eight years. Logan was twenty-seven and had plenty of time to plan his family. A part of him could not wait to become a father. He wanted to hold his wife’s hand as she pushed their son… or daughter… into their world.

  Now… he was not sure what to do or what to expect when he returned to the states.

  A soft tap of the shoulder brought him from his thoughts. He pulled the buds from his ears and the music roared loud enough, the flight attendant glanced to them, then back to Logan.

  “May I provide you a beverage or something to eat?” She seemed friendly with her smile and short cut brown hair. Her build slender, she probably drew a lot of attention on the flights home.

  “Jack and Coke?”

  She nodded and handed over a Coke can, plastic cup of ice, and a small shooter of Jack Daniels whiskey. “Here you go. Anything else?”

  He shook his head. She left and pushed her cart down the walk way. Popping the top, he poured the contents into the cup, then opened the Jack. He stared at it for a moment, then shot the contents straight. It burned his throat as he swallowed.

  Logan shook it off, then sipped the Coke. The liquor warmed his chest, then his stomach as it settled. He pushed the buds back into his ears. Lost Insen, with Here After began. Logan gripped the arm rest and made an effort to relax. He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled.

  He would get off the plane, be greeted by an escort for the Army, taken to the unit administrator, and then finally go home.

  But who would be waiting for him when he actually went home? Susan would not be there. He had no children or animals to speak of. His home would be quiet and Logan would be left with his own inner demons, and the silence of his mind as it screamed, what the fuck has happened?

  As the plane landed smoothly, Logan stood and gathered his carryon items; his foot locker would be waiting for him on the luggage conveyor. He stood on the train that took him to the terminal. He watched as families held onto one another; wives held their husbands, children clung to their parents.

  He lowered his gaze and his grip tightened on the pole he held onto for balance.

  “Welcome home, soldier. Thank you for your service.”

  Logan looked up and found an older man smiling to him.

  “Viet Nam, son,” the man announced. “You home to stay?”

  Logan shrugged. “I’m not quite sure yet, sir.” He was not ready to divulge the information about his wife and why he was home… not yet anyway.

  The man nodded. “Well, welcome home anyway. Do you have family waiting for you when you get off?”

  Logan lowered his gaze and shook his head. He did not answer the man. Silence ensued. The train eventually came to a stop. Once the doors opened, Logan left first, leaving the company of the train behind him, and the Viet Nam vet.

  Making his way toward the luggage
area, a few men in army fatigues were standing with a sign that read “Logan Saunders.”

  “That’s me,” he told them.

  One of them men, a tall dark skinned soldier nodded, his name plate read Wiley. “Welcome home, Saunders. We have orders to take you to Colonial Blake once we retrieve your belongings.”

  Logan nodded and turned to head toward the luggage conveyors.

  “For what it’s worth,” Wiley offered, “you have my sympathies.”

  Logan held his breath for a moment and stood still. He did not look back, or nod. He simply stared at the ground. After an uncomfortable moment, he continued toward the luggage conveyor.

  An hour had passed and Logan and the escorts arrived at Fort Bragg. He pushed sunglasses onto his face to block the bright sun… as well as keep his eyes to himself. Logan knew the unit had already received the news of his wife’s passing. He did not want the pity gazes, the “I’m sorry” speech, and he definitely did not want to walk into a conversation with a fucking shrink.

  Hell, he knew he should talk to someone regarding the war he’s been fighting in; PTSD is no laughing matter. But he refused to admit this to himself…or anyone else…he needed to “talk about it.”

  “Welcome home, soldier,” “Good having you back,” “My thoughts are with you.” If he heard one more person mutter anything else, Logan would lose it and punch a fucker in the jaw. He was not the type to cry, let alone, express feelings of any kind. He damn sure wouldn’t do that now.

  Logan ended up being escorted to the commanding officer’s door. A few taps on it, and the door opened, with the newly appointed Master Sergeant on the other side. Logan removed his sunglasses and shoved them into his pocket. The man held a presence of authority about him. Tall and beefy, Master Sergeant Landry slightly grimaced as he took in Logan.

  “Welcome home, Staff Sergeant Saunders. First allow me to share sympathy about the loss of your wife. Know my thoughts and prayers are with you.”